


Baby Blue

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zeke gets released from juvenile detention, all he wants is to move on and adjust to a new life. The past, however, cannot be erased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Honeyandvinegar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Honeyandvinegar).



 

He doesn't cross out the days on his calendar or keep a silly list on the wall. There's no need: he knows how long he's been here and how long it will take until he is let out again. It's all stored in his mind. Sometimes he thinks any place is as good as another, and as long as he is locked up behind these walls, he is neither harming anyone nor being harmed. Most of the time.

Somehow he considers himself lucky, despite the circumstances and even though _the day_ is so close. He both dreads and anticipates it. His plans are still vague, yet he knows one thing for sure: he is a different person now. All of what lies behind him has shaped and formed and _transformed_ him into a decent young man—or so he hopes. He tries hard, very hard. He must succeed.

At least he has survived.

18 months of juvenile detention.

553 days of strict playing by the rules.

He looks out of the window, one last time, into the nightly sky, and wonders what tomorrow might bring.

~ ~ ~

Tomorrow eventually turns into today, and it brings him an early morning breakfast and one last conversation with Doctor Needleman immediately afterwards.

“Zeke, my friend.”

They're not friends, but like hell Zeke will say a word.

“It's your big day,” the Doctor continues. A smile is glued to his face and it's as fake as Pam Anderson's boobies, but Zeke smiles back nonetheless.

“Not very talkative, eh? Aren't you excited?”

“A little,” the boy replies, then, with a sigh, adds, “I'm anxious, actually. I don't know what will happen, how I'm supposed to go back to school and everything.“

“That's perfectly normal. You need to look forward with courage. Your past—“

“Is past. I've learned from my mistakes. I paid for them. That's not it.”

“I see. What else is bothering you?”

“The most?”

“Yes, the most.”

Zeke cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. He's afraid that—although everything has been settled—if he screws up now, he won't get out of here. Ever. It's a ridiculous thought, but the awareness of that fact does not soothe his nerves.

“I think what I'm most afraid of is being alone.”

~ ~ ~

No one comes to pick him up, but he wasn't expecting it anyway. He knows his parents are far, far away, overseas, wherethefuckever; they left the country almost immediately after the trial. Zeke wonders whether they were more ashamed of what he did or who he is. Actually, it doesn't matter much: the effect is the same.

It's a beautiful, sunny day, and Zeke hasn't been outside for such a long time that he decides to take a walk into town. The warmth on his bare arms and his face feels promising; with every step he takes, it's as if all the remains of the past three years are releasing him, leaving him light-hearted.

Zeke lights a smoke, a habit he probably will never quit, and inhales with satisfaction.

 _This_ is freedom.

The feeling fades when he spots a car approaching him. He tenses; the vehicle is unpleasantly familiar. Memories rise, awakened from a deep sleep, hitting him like a flurry of blows. Zeke clenches his teeth as the car comes to a stop beside him and the driver-side door opens.

Casey Connor, the reason for all Zeke's doubts, climbs out. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and maybe it's better that way; these blues eyes are tempting, seductive and dangerous, and Zeke doesn't think he can just walk away if he has to face them.

“Hey,” Casey calls out. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Zeke almost snarls. He hears light footsteps behind him.

“Come on. You need a ride?”

“No. Thanks.”

A hand grabs him by the back of his shirt and it's too much; Zeke spins around and stares at the boy who takes a tiny step back, hit by the intensity of Zeke's look.

“What do you want?”

“I . . . I don't know. To be nice, maybe?”

“Why?”

“Geez, Zeke, why the hell not?” Casey lowers his head a little, appearing uneasy.

“Why the—oh, I know why not. First, I'm not allowed any contact with you except for classes. And secondly, you're the main reason for . . . _this_. So thanks, Connor, but stay the fuck away from me. You've been _nice_ enough in the past.”

“That's not fair!”

“I'll tell you what isn't fair: losing three fucking years of my life isn't fair!” Zeke watches Casey back away and some righteous yet bitter satisfaction overcomes him. “Yes, kiddo,” he goes on, unable to hold back the words. “Thanks for ruining my life. I should have sent your whole fucking family a thank-you-card and some flowers long ago, but sorry, I've been busy with other shit. I hope you ain't mad at me because, seriously, I am _so_ grateful that you've all been so _nice_ to me.”

Casey flinches at the last words and shakes his head. “It's not my fault,” he says almost inaudibly.

Zeke takes a few steps backwards, opens his mouth to add more, but reconsiders his words and swallows them down. Instead, he bows,—an overly dramatic gesture which, if not for the tragedy behind it, would have caused Casey to giggle—turns around and walks away.

“Don't bother me anymore,” he calls back over his shoulder.

Casey watches him leave, stays and watches until Zeke's figure eventually is out of sight.

The boy trembles.

Most of this _is_ his fault, but he will set it all right.

If only he knew how.

~ ~ ~

Their gazes follow him everywhere he goes, some of them curious, many suspicious, most openly scornful. It's hard for the first few days, but then he is used to conversations dying down whenever he shows up. He also quickly adjusts to being ignored, being avoided, left out, not worthy of _anything_.

Zeke squares his shoulders and ignores them just as much as they pretend to ignore him, but that does not mean he doesn't care. It's a distressing time for him and it's much worse than he could have ever imagined.

_What I'm most afraid of is being alone._

He's still afraid of being lonely, but as time goes by, being alone somehow turns out to be healthy.

The only friendly face among the crowd of classmates is the one he actually _wants_ to ignore, but Casey can't seem to let go easily. He doesn't approach or talk to him, but he is around Zeke too often to be considered “by chance.” They even have most classes together, and this is what bothers Zeke the most: he can't get away.

_Don't leave me alone. I don't know what to do without you._

Every time his eyes meet Casey's, he remembers these words, hears them clearly, but cannot tell which one of them said it.

They are on their own now, either way.

~ ~ ~

“Del. What a lovely surprise. Not.”

“Spare me, Zeke. Let's make it brief: are you willing to give me an interview?”

“Why should I?”

“You might need the payment.”

Zeke opens the door just a wee bit more, pretending to be highly interested. “Oh, please, _go on_!”

It is so fake that it must be obvious; he hopes to offend her just enough to get rid of her without having to be rude. But he fails when faced with Delilah's dogged determination. She's neither blind nor stupid, she's just way too lost in the hunt of the perfect headline and thus ignores his fairly poor acting, which otherwise would have earned him a sharp remark at least.

“I'm talking _very good_ payment.”

“How so?”

“It doesn't matter. Just—whatever your price, I'll pay it.”

“Seriously, Delilah.” He sighs. “Money is exactly what I don't need.”

“I see. How about the unique chance to recover your reputation?”

Zeke raises his eyebrows.

“Hit a nerve?” Her smile is candy-sweet, so sweet that he feels a little like throwing up, and he rolls his eyes.

“Too damned bad it's not in your powers to set things right.”

She laughs. “You'd be surprised,” Delilah says with what Zeke thinks is a seductive voice, “about what is in my powers.”

“For example?”

“Mmm . . . Let's say: you want it, Del delivers.”

All of a sudden, he is overly aware of both his own loneliness and her beauty. He wants to reply—something—anything—but he's afraid his voice might fail.

“So . . . what would you say you _do_ need?”

Her eyes hold and trap him; he swallows hard. Breathing is a task of sheer impossibility, the more so when she runs a perfectly manicured hand over his chest. He grabs her wrist.

“Company,” he says hoarsely.

Delilah laughs once more and makes a tiny nod. “Deal,” she whispers, leaning close to him, too close, and what he will remember later when wondering what the fuck happened—the only thing he will ever remember about this afternoon—is her soft skin, sweet touch, hot, hot kisses and most of all, her shamelessness.

Everything else gets lost in the bliss of not having to be lonely for a couple of hours.

~ ~ ~

She corners him at his locker the next day. Her face is almost stony and at first, he doesn't even know why she should be upset, but then he realizes and lowers his gaze.

“Look, Del. I know I owe you . . . “

“Perfectly right, Mister.”

“Fine. You'll get that interview, okay? Just . . . not now.”

“When?”

“I don't know.”

“Your place, at six. You either pay your debts, or . . . “

“Or what?”

“I'll tell people . . . things . . . about you.“

Zeke cocks his head. “Is this a threat?”

“It is,” she says unsmiling.

He knows he's fucked either way.

~ ~ ~

Zeke _is_ fucked, but not exactly the way he expected to be. It turns out that Delilah Profitt, everyone's darling, wants more than just a bad boy's story. She wants this very bad boy, and again Zeke can't help but wonder how determined and demanding the girl is. It is easy to give in to her; she's too pleasant and way too fulfilling.

He's not sure about who uses whom at this point, yet as long as they both want to play, he won't make any objection.

And _playing_ is something Delilah knows perfectly well.

She leaves him without her interview once again, only to come back for it many more times; he's always left spent, wasted and without having told her one single word about what happened back then. All of those things make him absurdly happy.

The regularity of these dates keep him sane; it's something to look forward to, to cling to. Zeke doesn't question her intentions one bit. He's neither suspicious nor overly careful.

Until the day he expects Delilah but finds Casey on his doorstep. Zeke is tempted to shut the door in his face, but a quick step forward takes the boy halfway inside the house. If Zeke doesn't want to hurt him—he's had that, thank you—he has to back away to grant him access.

Casey storms past him and into the living room, where he stops and looks around, apparently unsure what to do or say.

Zeke helps him by asking, “What do you want?”

“An answer,” the boy replies after some moments of nervous chewing on his lower lip.

“What's the question?”

“Why are you fucking Delilah?”

There is no way Zeke can explain that; furthermore, he thinks he neither wants nor has to. “Mind your own business,” he shoots back and is surprised at the way Casey's eyes grow wider with something that might be hurt.

“It is my business,” the boy replies slowly.

“Sure. Whatever. You can see yourself out, right?”

“She's my girlfriend.”

His own heartbeat is terribly loud in Zeke's ears. Casey stares at him, and he's vaguely aware of staring back, but he can neither move nor make a single sound, no matter how much he wants to say he's sorry. He didn't know. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything if he did, but thinking it through is somehow pointless now that the harm has been caused.

The irony of it all is almost tangible.

After what seems an eternity, Zeke closes his eyes. He doesn't want Casey to see the tears burning there.

 

 

 

~ ~ ~ end of part one ~ ~ ~

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful Moit, who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> _Feedback is love._


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